


i’ll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

by merrywil



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Fluff, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: A sorcerer’s duties are never done.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	i’ll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

**Author's Note:**

> With gratitude to those who serve, in any capacity, so that the rest can sleep peacefully this holiday season.

The wind was cold, as it whipped through the scraggly bushes that clung to the rocky soil of the mountainside. It whistled hauntingly through the opening in the cliff far above, and rattled the bare branches together.

The Cloak of Levitation tightened around Stephen’s shoulders as he shivered. A master’s robes were thick and well woven, and bore subtle enchantments of protection besides. But the silvery light of the moon was waning as it dipped towards the horizon, and the dark worsened the bite of the wind’s chill.

He cursed softly as one foot slipped in a patch of loose shale, no more than a shadow in the fading light. As much as he wanted to press on, to do so was becoming rapidly more foolhardy than productive. At this rate, he’d twist an ankle in a hole, and be no good to anyone.

Shaking his head with more than a little despair, Stephen came to a halt. Glancing around him, he shrugged, then moved a few yards to the left of the trail--if it could be called that--that he had been following. Sinking to the hard earth with a sigh, he felt the Cloak twitch questioningly.

Almost unconsciously, Stephen ran one lightly shaking hand along the red fabric. “It’s getting too dark to see, and I’m afraid I’ll either lose the trail or break my neck if we keep going.” Then he laughed, as the Cloak billowed outwards in clear affront. “Well, it’s good to know you wouldn’t let that happen, at least.”

The relic tightened affectionately around its chosen, as Stephen crossed his legs and tilted his head back to survey the stars far above them. In the failing moonlight, they stood out all the more starkly, harsh pinpricks of cold blue-white against the darkened firmament. An alien sky, above a planet very far from Earth. 

Stephen shivered again. He was cold, and tired and hungry. He had been searching for over five days, for a relic rumored to have surfaced on this world. It was an ancient and powerful item, one that a number of sorcerers from their particular Universe felt should not fall into the wrong hands. He was not the only one seeking it, but he’d managed to befuddle the others long enough to hone in on the relic’s location.

With any good fortune, he’d reach that location within another half day’s travel. He could already sense the faintest stirrings of its power, which meant that he was very close indeed. If luck was on his side, he’d be home tomorrow in time for dinner.

And tomorrow, Stephen realized with a groan, was Christmas. His stomach gurgled loudly, in protest at its lack of sustenance and anticipation of Wong’s Christmas repast. He ignored it, as he forced his aching fingers to fight against the frigid air long enough to set wards. Then, he lowered himself gingerly to curl against the rocky ground, the Cloak bundling around him. It wasn’t much protection against either the earth’s hardness or the frosty nip of the wind, but it was better than nothing. Again, gratefully, he stroked one hand along the relic, which seemed to butt gently against his fingers in reply.

“They say that at midnight on Christmas Eve, animals gain the ability to speak. What about cloaks?” The relic shuddered, its revulsion a mere front. Stephen chuckled, as his eyes slipped closed despite the cold and any dangers that lurked in the night. “Good night, my friend. At least we can wish for good dreams.”

\--

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la! ‘Tis the season to be jolly,...”

“What does ‘fa la la la la’ mean?”

“I am Groot!”

“No, it definitely doesn’t mean that. And I’m pretty sure there isn’t an Earth language similar to yours, even if half of this song is fa’s and la’s.”

“I do not understand this song. What do trolls have to do with your Earth holiday, and why do you behave so violently towards this harp?”

“Uhh, I actually have no idea. Old Christmas songs are weird. Just go with it, guys, come on!”

Peter (Parker that is, although there had already been half a dozen mixups this evening alone) smiled to himself as he passed the crew of spacefarers ensconced on one of the massive couches. It had been a surprise to see Thor and the Guardians when he arrived at the renovated compound for the Avengers’ unofficial holiday gathering. But not an unpleasant one. Quill certainly seemed to be enjoying the seasonal activities, and Peter was pleased that the former Asguardian prince looked more content and less...sad, than he had at their last meeting.

Peter ducked unconsciously as a piece of something--was that a gumdrop?--went flying past his ear. The gingerbread-decorating table seemed to be turning into a bit of a war zone, but the genuine laughter emanating from those gathered around it suggested it was all in good fun. Peter wasn’t going to be risking any of his savings on a bet, but he had a feeling that Carol could beat Sam and Bucky with one hand tied behind her back. 

Doctor Banner surveyed the antics with a bemused smile, as he cradled a giant mug of cocoa. Perched on the arm of a chair at his side, T’Challa managed to convey a sense of elegance even in the casual slacks and sweater that he had donned for the occasion. But his smile, too, was warm.

For a moment, Peter contemplated joining them, or visiting the overburdened tables that groaned under plates of hors d’oeuvres and trays of cookies. But something stopped him, and for a moment he paused by one of the windows, looking out into the darkness beyond.

This year--not that it had been a year for him and so many others, but rather half a decade--defied description. So much tragedy and loss, such joy and triumph. Life seemed to have happened on a grander scale, and Peter wasn’t sure what to make of the emotions that swirled within his chest. As if in empathy, he watched fat, fluffy snowflakes began to fall, sticking almost instantly to the shrubs barely visible in the darkness. 

“Hey, kid. You alright?” Peter started at the hand that gently clapped against his shoulder, then turned to smile at the retired Colonel.

“Yeah. Just thinking. Thanks, Mr. Rhodes.” The hand tightened, as a knowing smile creased the older man’s lips.

“Jim, Pete. Mr. Rhodes was my old man. And thinking’s alright, just don’t get so caught up in it that you don’t leave time for living.”

Peter nodded, although his eyes were drawn back to the increasingly heavy snow that fell outside of the glass. But it was only a moment before they were pulled up towards the ceiling, widening in astonishment as Peter’s mouth fell open. 

“What the…” James Rhodes’ seemed no less surprised by their miniscule visitor than Peter himself, as they both watched the tiny golden butterfly twirl gracefully downwards. Its gossamer wings trailed streamers of coruscating sparks that faded like the snowflakes striking against the window. The glittering insect alighted on Peter’s upraised hand, little antennae twitching.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Peter whispered, afraid to disturb his small passenger. He raised his gaze to meet Jim’s. “I think it’s one of the Doc’s. Don’t ask me how, it just reminds me of him.”

“It sure is a beauty.” Jim seemed to take a moment to appreciate the artistry of nature’s creation, so different than the machines with which he worked. Then his eyes flicked back up to Peter’s face, his own drawing into a frown. “What’s wrong, kid?”

Peter spoke quietly, unsure of how to articulate the feeling that pervaded his senses. “I get the impression that he--the Doc, that is--isn’t enjoying the holiday the way we are.”

Jim didn’t dismiss his concern out of hand, which Peter appreciated. After a moment of contemplation, the older man replied. “You may be right. But for one thing, the Doc can take care of himself. And for another, he’s here with us in spirit, if that thing you’re holding is anything to go by. So why don’t we go raise a toast, to absent friends. You in, kid?”

Peter looked down again at the butterfly, and out one last time at the snow. Then he looked up at Mr. Rhodes--Jim--and nodded. “Yes, sir. Uh, yeah. To friends, wherever they may be.”

\--

With a quiet groan, Christine Palmer settled into the desk chair, bracing herself as it tilted forward precariously. She’d intentionally selected this seat, which had seen far better days, in the hopes of keeping herself awake. 

The couch in the staff lounge was calling her name, but she only had a few hours left in her shift. If she could manage to keep on top of her paperwork, she’d be free to leave as soon as 8 AM rolled around. Heck, she might even indulge in a ridiculously sugary, holiday beverage on her way home. After all, it was the season.

A clipboard clattered to the counter above her, and Christine looked up. Her heart, which had started to race in anticipation of a new case, calmed when she saw one of her nurses leaning unconcernedly against the hard surface.

“All quiet on the western front, ma’am.”

Christine rolled her eyes. “Don’t jinx it, Matt. And what have I told you about calling me ma’am?” She grinned as he shrugged good-naturedly. “Any plans for when we get out of here? Don’t tell me you’re intending to study, or I’ll put coal in your stocking next Christmas.”

Matt laughed. He was planning on applying to medical school the following year, and Christine hoped that his diligence paid off. “No, ma’am. Taking the train to Philly to visit my grandma. How about you?”

“Sleeping, firstly. Well, possibly a gingerbread latte first, and then sleeping. Then I’m heading to Brooklyn to have dinner with my cousin and her family. Her daughters are three and seven, so it should be fun.”

“Sounds like it.” Matt nodded, then pushed away from the counter. “Well, no rest for the wicked. Enjoy your paperwork, ma’am!”

Christine shook her head, chuckling softly as she turned back to the computer. Then she sighed. These notes weren’t going to write themselves.

She had made it through about half of them, without yet being disturbed by an emergency. That in and of itself was a Christmas miracle. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined the featherlight touch against her shoulder. Then she turned her head, and froze in astonishment.

The golden butterfly’s proboscis quested curiously, as its tiny legs made their way along the fabric of her scrub top. Ethereal wings beat gently, sending puffs of glimmering sparks into the hospital’s stale night air. Without thought, Christine lifted her opposite hand, and the little insect trustingly stepped onto its latest perch.

Christine raised her new companion before her eyes, gazing in wonder at the impossible creature. Magic. She smiled, despite the tiredness that dragged at her. “Still pulling overnight shifts too, huh, Stephen? Some things never change.”

Gently, she lowered the butterfly to the surface of her desk, where it bravely began to explore the keyboard. “Can you tell him to take care of himself for me, little one? I miss you, my friend. But I feel better knowing that you’re out there somewhere, watching out for the rest of us.”

\--

For once, everything that needed to be done was finished. A fire crackled merrily in the study’s hearth, and there was a book for pleasure rather than research open on his lap. The Sanctum was quiet, and even the mystical currents that flowed through the city were still tonight. Yet Wong found himself unable to focus on his reading.

Christmas was not a holiday that he had celebrated as a boy, but one he had come to enjoy in university from his time spent with friends and their families. The season awoke nostalgic memories of games and presents and merriment, of laughter and renewed bonds of fellowship. There were enough in residence at Kamar-Taj who celebrated some form of winter holiday that his fondness for this time of year had not lapsed in the decades since.

Stephen, it turned out, seemed to harbor the same fondness for Christmas. Wong had never asked, but the almost wistful look that crossed his colleague’s face at times made him wonder about a younger Stephen’s experiences with the holiday. Perhaps someday the other man would share those stories.

This year had been...a difficult one, to say the least. For those left behind, and forced to adjust as their friends and family returned to a world that had moved on without them. For those who had vanished at Thanos’s hand, awakening to realize that yesterday had been over five years in the past.

So Wong had prepared something special this year, in the hopes that they--Stephen and he, and of course Stephen’s relic--could make some new memories in this born-again world they found themselves in. Stephen had tried to help, before he left, but he was genuinely abysmal in the kitchen. Fortunately, Wong not only found cooking relaxing, but seemed to have inherited his grandmother’s knack for it as well.

_ “Strange, if you remove another one of those cookies from that cooling rack, I will send you to Hell until Christmas.” _

_ “Okay, so firstly, that is disturbing. Secondly, if you send me to Hell, you’ll have to go chasing down this relic in my place. And thirdly, do you have eyes in the back of your head? Actually, don’t answer that.” _

_ “Learned your lesson on asking questions about magic that you do not truly wish to have answered, I see.” _

_ There was a snort from behind him, and then the unmistakable albeit quiet sound of someone munching on a cookie. Wong turned, hands settling on his hips, one eyebrow arched.  _

_ Stephen blinked innocently at him, or at least as innocently as possible when there was a light dusting of powdered sugar along one cuff of one’s robes. “So before you send me to Hell, technically the Cloak took the cookie. I just ate it. Also, remember that you definitely do not want to go traipsing around some alien planet for the next week.” _

_ Rolling his eyes heavenwards in the hopes that some deity would grant him sufficient patience to deal with his housemate and friend, Wong turned back to the stove. “Do you think it will take that long?” _

_ He heard the rustle of fabric, and surmised that Stephen had shrugged. “I don’t know. Hopefully the item won’t be complicated to find, and hopefully there won’t be too many other searchers of a less savory character.”  _

_ Stephen’s tone was somber, and for a moment there was a heavy silence broken only by the clink of Wong’s spoon against the pot that it stirred. When Stephen spoke again, it was with an obvious attempt at levity. “Anyways, I’ll have to find it within the next five days or so.” _

_ “And why is that?” _

_ “Because you’re making Christmas dinner, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my friend.” _

Wong remembered that he had harrumphed loudly at that, and Stephen had laughed. The Cloak had abandoned its chosen to wrap around Wong’s shoulders in the facsimile of a hug. And then both relic and sorcerer had taken their leave--and possibly a few of Wong’s cookies--through a portal that opened onto the other side of their galaxy.

Now the refrigerator was well stocked with the makings of Christmas dinner, and the cookies had been stored in several tins for safekeeping. Someone had to hold down the fort, and it was his turn. Although sometimes Wong wondered if waiting were not the harder role to bear.

With a resigned sigh, Wong let his book fall closed, and placed it gently on the table at his elbow. Raising one hand, he sketched a series of sigils in the air, each burning brightly before fading like wisps of smoke. In front of him, the room itself seemed to waver, before forming into an image. Wong studied the scene intently.

The view was dim, with only the faintest illumination cast by the stars and a setting moon. Wong could hear nothing. But he felt a sympathetic shiver run up his spine, as the branches of straggling bushes bent in the wind. The bundle of fabric--perhaps a deep red, although in the dark it was difficult to tell--rustled in the wind as well, as did Stephen’s dark locks where they peeked out from the Cloak’s edge. 

From what Wong could discern, the other man was merely sleeping. Wong had no sense that he was injured, or in any imminent danger. Although that could change in a heartbeat; such was the nature of their work. But Stephen was a veteran sorcerer now, a Master with enough skills and experience at his disposal to handle this mission. With another sigh, Wong let his magic, and the image, fade.

Wong watched as the eldritch energies dissipated. Then he started. One trail of fiery sparks remained after the others had vanished, drifting down towards him. A pleasant warmth built in his chest as he raised his hand, considering the tiny, golden insect that alighted on it.

The butterfly flapped its wings, glittering scintilla cascading off of them into the cool night air. And although his friend was not there to see it, he let out a soft bark of laughter. This was a season of hope, after all. And Stephen had made him a promise. Tomorrow was Christmas, and somehow, they would celebrate the second chance they had all been given. Together.

\--

On an alien mountainside, tens of thousands of lightyears distant, Stephen slept on. His Cloak kept watch over the watcher, while he dreamed of colleagues fast becoming friends, and friends who had become family. And his dreams--as fragile and yet as marvelous as a butterfly’s wings--were filled with warmth and hope and joy.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, Stephen made it home for Christmas (maybe not without a little trouble, but the Cloak and some mad sorcery skills saved the day). And he and Wong had Christmas dinner together, and Christine and Peter definitely stopped by to toast the new year.


End file.
